The room had gone silent at least three minutes ago, Draco thought irritably, as he leaned over his glass. Was his presence so astonishing that they'd be left flabbergasted for so long? Surely they had better things to do than stare at him wordlessly. At this point in the awkwardness, Draco would have preferred an assault to the silence.

Finally it broke, in the form of a familiar booming voice. Hagrid, Draco recognized, though he didn't look the oaf's way, had uncertainly continued his discussion with whomever he'd been speaking with before Draco had entered the Leaky Cauldron. Slowly but certainly the remaining patrons picked up their forgotten conversations, until a normal buzz was floating through the pub.

“Merlin,� he muttered over the firewhiskey.

“What's that?� asked the barkeep, whom Draco hadn't realized was close enough to hear his mutterings.

Draco shook his head noncommittally. She was a pretty girl, rather curved, with flyaway hairs sticking about from the loose bun pulled in the middle of her head. The more he observed her features the more he saw the similarities of she and another bar maid in her. They weren't exactly each other's spitting image, but they looked enough alike to be related.

Slowly he watched a scowl come over her face. “Like what you see?� she asked, her hands on her hips. Draco hadn't realized he'd been staring.

He shrugged. “You look like someone else.�

“Tha's funny,� she replied, in a rather heavy accent. “Because I've gone through my whole life thinking I looked like me.�

With that she slunk away, her anger-fueled accent dwindling back to normal as she conversed with another patron. Draco returned his eyes to his drink, thinking of how swimmingly his first conversation with another person had went. How long had it been since he'd spoken with a real person? To himself he'd screamed, to the walls he'd talked when he was sleep-deprived to the point of hallucinations, but to another person – it had been a long time.

Draco spent another half hour at the bar, drinking slowly so as to not need to order another drink. His first day out of Azkaban. He'd tried enjoying his home; tried reading a paper; tried walking through the blasted streets of the city he hadn't seen for half a decade. When he'd seen the entrance to the familiar pub something had stirred in his gut, the idea of being among his own kind sending an unrecognizable emotion through him. When he'd entered to an immediate cease of conversation, he finally recognized it was fear.

Despite every moment of his previous life, his life before Azkaban, before losing every shred of dignity he had, he wasn't going to back down. They'd stared and they'd whispered, and he could very well have turned around and gone home. And despite the fear wrenching his gut at returning to the world, he was still Draco Malfoy. To hell with them, he thought, as he threw a galleon on the bar and snatched his coat from the back of the chair. He was a Malfoy, and he was not backing down.

+++++

Harry watched with a mixture of humor and dread as Ginny tapped her foot on the floor. Funny, how that combination always accompanied him throughout an argument. Remembering each face she made as one he'd seen on Mrs Weasley was enough to make him smile, if only for the memories that he could finally laugh at. Knowing that Ginny had acquired skills in arguing that no one – not even Molly – had. That was terrifying.

She'd opened her mouth several times over the twenty minutes they'd been sitting in silence. Harry knew he shouldn't have been letting her think so much. Even though she got more frustrated when she didn't have time to completely think through he arguments, he knew she was compiling so many unarguable facts that he would be helpless to her demands.

Brave Harry Potter, who'd slayed Voldemort and continued to chase after dangerous wizards, defenseless to his wife. It was almost depressing, except, he thought defensively, that she at least had womanly wiles over curse-throwing wizards.

“Draco Malfoy has made many mistakes --�

Despite knowing how she sincerely hated being interrupted, Harry cut her off. “No. You can take this wherever you want, Ginny, but you won't make excuses for him.�

She scowled only minutely before nodding. “Fine. Do you remember when Ron abandoned you and Hermione?�

From the kitchen, Harry heard a rather audible grunt. To Ginny he nodded and said quietly, “Yeah.�

“Well, you forgave him, didn't you? And what he did was pretty wretched. Do you make excuses for him?�

“Oi! Let's keep me out of this!�

Harry answered, ignoring the shout from the kitchen, “I don't. Ron hasn't filed his entire life with wretched, horrible acts, has he? He's not even slightly comparable to Malfoy.�

“Harry, the man spent five years rotting in Azkaban, and you fought for him not going there! What's changed, then? Had a change in heart? Has your status at the Ministry made you too good to remember who you were when you first got there?� Every sentence was dripping with rising anger; so he'd deflected her long-thought-out argument after all.

He shook his head, sighing. He wasn't going to respond to her accusations because she didn't mean them. He'd learned not to let her anger get to him; it had sent them on far too many separations over the years. Instead he repositioned himself in the arm chair and leaned over, his elbows on his knees. “Malfoy is not my business, Ginny – I'm sorry but he's not! Yeah, no one's reacted well to him, what did you expect? That he'd be welcome back with open arms? He was a bloody Death Eater!�

“Damn it, Harry, we are better than this.� Ginny too leaned forward, her arms crossed over her stomach. “What does it say about the world when we can't even forgive a teenager's mistakes? The Prophet has completely over reacted, hordes of people are hexing his house, and not a single person is stepping up to say that this isn't okay! It's not okay!�

No, it wasn't, Harry agreed silently. He shook his head again, dropping it in his hands. “What am I supposed to do about it? If you're so damn in love with him, you make friends with the prat!�

A distinct snort came from the kitchen, only driving the deranged look of anger on Ginny's face even further. Harry said, before she could shout, “I know you're not in love with him. I didn't mean that.�

She wasn't appeased. “Do you know how much good you could do if you would just make a statement?�

“For Merlin's sake, Ginny, we are not getting in to that.�

She continued on as if he hadn't spoken at all. “Your silence is as much of an affirmation as anyone needs. If Harry Potter thinks its okay to shun someone because of their blood heritage, then it's okay for everyone. Forget Voldemort's death, we're still at war with ourselves!�

Harry hadn't noticed Ron entering the room. He was followed shortly by Hermione, who, by the look of her face, had been trying very hard to keep him out of the room.

“This has nothing to do with Malfoy being a pureblood. It has to do with him being a disgusting toad. And that Death Eater thing.� Ron rolled his eyes, sitting on the arm of Harry's chair. “You know, that might have something to do with it.�

Hermione kicked Ron in the shins before sitting on the furthest chair away from the center of the room.

“What would you have me do, Ginny?� Harry asked, knowing that if he got her back to a reasonable state of mind the evening would go much better.

“Snog him, I'd bet,� Ron muttered, and Harry tried hard to not laugh.

“Don't let people get away with this. Show them that we're not the ignorant cowards we were. Our entire society crumbled in fear because one man was able to twist us however he wanted. No matter how stupid Draco was, he can't be made the scapegoat for everyone's leftover hatred.�

+++++

The flat wasn't terrible. It had two bedrooms and a rather nice sized kitchen, and even a rickety balcony through the sitting room. The floors were shined and the paint was fresh, and the upstairs neighbours weren't terrible. It wasn't a mansion, but it wasn't Azkaban. The middle, Draco found, wasn't a terrible place to be.

His manor had been destroyed. Remnants of dozens of magical explosions were evident every where he'd walked, and every other step he'd taken sent off a different hex at him. He'd begun walking carefully through the front hall and turned back after just half a dozen steps proved it hadn't just been harmless jinxes that had been left for him.

With no clothes or possessions, Draco sat on the floor of the flat, a bottle of elf-made wine in one hand and a spare galleon in the other. Gringotts was closed until the week day, until which time he had to make do with enough gold for liquor and little else. The clothes he'd been given by Ministry after being released were lying in a heap in the bare bedroom; Draco sat in his underwear and nothing else. He'd have to learn cleaning charms if he wanted to leave the flat.

He had realized early in the evening that he'd become quite accustomed to silence. At first he had thought that the empty room would drive him insane or to another pub, but the longer he sat, flipping the galleon in his hand, the more powerful the realization became that he wasn't fit for the outside world anymore. Every corner held a dementor behind it, as if the nightmares weren't enough of a reminder.

He wouldn't wallow for long. He was going to enter the Ministry as he had originally planned, with or without his father's sway.

It took a week for the nightmares to relent to the point where he could get ten minutes of continuous sleep. It was about the same amount of time before the wizarding world's collective balls dropped and they start making direct attacks on him. Any time he needed the simplest thing, from food to stock his pantry to simply having a breath of air, he had to prepare for the hordes that united in the streets to scream at him and occasionally throw a jinx.

The balcony, which he'd magically reinforced his second night in the flat, became the only place he could go in to the world without being attacked, verbally or otherwise. He had chosen the Muggle village for exactly that purpose because no matter how quiet things had been upon his return, he had known they'd turn. Knew he'd need a home not on any wizard's radar; that was as far from the wizarding community as possible. Regardless, it wouldn't be long until he was found.

A half-empty bottle of firewhiskey hanging loosely in his hand, Draco wondered when the uproar would dwindle down to the occasional public insult. It could be months before he had the opportunity to create a new life; it could be years. His parent's left over funds weren't going to last him too long as half of it had been seized by the Ministry. His options were to wait for his name to no longer be of interest, or plough ahead despite it all.

The question of what a true Malfoy would do plagued him all throughout sleep.

+++++

“Who wrote this!� Harry threw the morning's paper on to the floor, his chest heaving with the restraint of keeping his wand in his pocket. No one in the room would look directly at him until a door on the far side of the room opened.

The Prophet's chief editor was a stout woman with harsh bones jutting out of her face, leaving not a single space appearing feminine. Her eyes were cool when they landed on Harry, and she leaned in the doorway of her office, sliding her arms across her chest.

“How can I help Harry Potter today?� she asked, her lips twitching upward.

Harry crossed the room, leaving the paper he'd come with on the floor and snatching a new one off someone's desk. He shoved the morning's headline in Johnston's face, livid. “Who wrote this?�

She laughed softly, clicking her tongue. “Can't reveal that, Potter. She feels she would be in dire danger if her identity as the reporter were revealed.�

“Give-me-a-name,� he said slowly, throwing the second paper in to the air and shoving Johnston backward in to her office. He slammed the door behind him before she could reassemble herself.

“Is the famous Harry Potter letting go of his morals?� she asked viciously, grabbing on her desk for a quill. “That'd make quite the sensational story you know.�

“Your job is hanging on by the thinnest hairs, Johnston,� Harry spit back at her, clenching his fists so as to not strike her. She'd only had the desk for three weeks and already she'd let the most inane drivel slip through to the papers. “You won't be here another minute if I see to it.�

“That control complex of yours has never received the attention it deserved. Why, I think I'll call my old pal Skeeter to get the scoop. She always had a flair for writing you accurately, Potter.�

“You will write a retraction for the Evening Prophet. Have it on my desk in half an hour or you will never have another job, Johnston, I will make sure of it!�

He went for the door, thrusting it open so hard that it bounced off the wall after smashing a hole through it.

“You can't stifle the truth, Potter!� Johnston called, and Harry turned on his heels. She was still standing tall but there was a shadow in her eyes that said she wasn't as sure of herself as she'd liked to have been.

Harry walked slowly back toward her, every step so careful his body shook with restraint. “You will not use the paper as your own personal means of getting off, you disgusting piece of –!� He took a deep breath in, and began in a slightly more controlled tone. “This paper fell to shit when Voldemort returned because the people behind it didn't give a damn about the truth. They used it to put an edge on the fear and made up whatever insane batshit they wanted to make every paper drip with lies that made every reader too paranoid to leave their own homes!�

“We reported the truth--!�

His last resolve broke. “You're under arrest for slander.�

Harry drew his wand and sent silent ropes around her wrists, not controlling how tight they bound her. Johnston screeched in rage, slinging her arms trying to get the ropes off of her.

“You can't do this!�

His gut fluttering with the satisfaction of seeing her panic, Harry went behind her and grabbed her shoulders, leading the struggling woman out of the office and through the dumbfounded room of editors and reporters. Not one person stepped forward, or even said a word.



“Damn it, Harry, you know these charges won't stand. You know you don't have jurisdiction over the crime of slander. You know that by arresting her, you've only confirmed the rumor she printed! You know the reputation the Ministry had under Voldemort's second rise – that the people will believe that we're trying to quiet the news that one of his followers has--�

Harry slammed his fists on the desk, stopping Robards' rant before it grew any longer. “Do you know what that fucking article is going to do? We're going to be running to all corners of the world because every person who heard the word that Death Eaters were back is going to be reporting every single thing that scares them! It won't stop for weeks – months!�

Robards hung his head. “Yes, Harry, I know. We all knew. We didn't go on a tirade and make a false arrest!�

“I know, damn it!� He rubbed the spot between his eyes, trying desperately to ease the growing headache. “Was the retraction printed? Has the original reporter been identified?�

Robards stood up and began pacing a tight circle behind his desk. “We can't run a retraction – we can't appear to be attempting to cover this up, no matter that the story was complete bollocks. You ruined that, Harry, remember that before you start shouting at me again.�

“Johnston cannot remain the chief editor of the Prophet. The only thing she's done since she replaced Higsford is spread vicious rumors designed to take us all back to before Voldemort fell. There has been no reason for her to run stories about families who are still recovering – not as front page news.�

There was a knock on the door. Both men turned to it expectantly, but the person on the other side didn't come barging through. Not an Auror then, Harry thought.

“What the hell are you waiting for!� Robards called impatiently. “Come in!�

A woman came through the door, bespectacled eyes glancing at Harry only momentarily before finding Robards. She ignored Harry and jutted her hand out. “Theresa Hopkins, Misses Johnston's attorney. You're Gwain Robards, I presume?�

He ignored her hand and looked at Harry. “Get out. Don't leave the building.�

Hopkins looked to Harry. “I assume he will be receiving punishment for the treatment of my client? A suspension sounds fair, and a public apology will of course be in order.�

Harry stood up, smirking as he walked to the door. “Not until a hippogryff eats his wing.�

He shut the door before he could hear her retort.

+++++

A String of Murders Follow the Death Eater's Release: Have the remaining followers of Voldemort reunited under a new leader?

The majority of the paper was undecipherable for the stains of blood that had soaked it, gluing the pages together as it congealed. Draco held a soaked towel to the deepest wound in his stomach that, after half an hour, was still consistently bleeding.

He'd left that morning, finally having decided to buy new clothes. He hadn't known about the paper; he hadn't even known about the murders. It wasn't new for people avoid his path – even run when they saw him. It wasn't until he reached the robe shop that he was jumped.

Draco had learned how to hold his own in a duel but the years of Azkaban had worn his magic down to the point where conjuring a glass from the kitchen was difficult to accomplish. Six against one had left him completely defenseless. On the side of the street with a dozen or more witnesses, he'd been surrounded and cursed to the point where life wasn't a feasible option. It had taken every ounce of strength he had to apparate within a block of his home and if it wasn't for a passing Muggle who'd carried him, he would have died on the streets.

At least here, he could die in peace. He didn't know what curses had been cast on him but he knew the bleeding wasn't going to stop. Boils were steadily spreading across his face, stealing what vision he had, and yellow puss was seeping through his tattered clothes.

As consciousness came and went, the scenes of death changed. First his flat, then an unrecognizable street, and finally through the oddly bouncing decent from life, glaring white lights were bursting in his vision. Finally death found him, and he fell from consciousness for the last time much more comfortably than when he'd began.



The headache was the first sign of life. It jolted him awake and threw awareness through every piece of his body; the whir of charmed tubes passing fluids in and out, the smell of sickness, the cool air. He'd been here once before when he'd fallen off his broom in the back yard.

“What the fucking hell?�

Lifting his eyelids proved challenging but he finally accomplished it, blinking rapidly in the blinding light. His arms were held in place on the bed and a fleeting thought took him back to when he was first tortured by Death Eaters. The smell of blood overtook him so quickly that the dungeon swam before his eyes, sending nausea through his entire body.

“He's going to hurl!�

“Get the other ar--�

Draco choked as the vomit clogged his throat and he tried leaning over the edge of the bed, but couldn't reach with his arms held down. Hands were grabbing furiously at the restraints and as soon as they were off he fell the floor, the entire contents of his stomach spilling on to the tile.

The room was silent as he composed himself. A Healer came in, cleaning the vomit silently as she approached him and without a word she lifted him easily off the floor and back on to the bed.

“Drink these.� She held out three vials of different shapes and colors and Draco, trustingly, took them all. He downed the three of them together, ignoring the burning that accompanied them all.

Once she'd left the room, Draco decided to confirm whether or not the mop of black hair he'd seen truly belonged to Potter. A glance told him it did.

“You're a little late, Potter, but I wouldn't go so far as to presume that you've done anything to catch the bastards that put me here.�

“You ungrateful little bastard!� A female's voice that Draco didn't recognize rose through the room, echoing off the empty walls. “Harry nearly lost his job defending you!�

“Don't bother, Ginny,� Harry said.

Draco closed his eyes. “Get out.�

“We are not leaving here.�

“Get out!� he bellowed, his voice cracking. He coughed and found a glass of water shoved in his face, which he took.

The door opened and slammed closed, but Draco could still feel someone in the room through his closed eyes. Without opening them he said, “Ginger, or Potter?�

+++++

Harry didn't answer the question. The Healers had done well at repairing the broken body but the attack was still evident on nearly every inch of him. The hoops he'd had to jump to to get Draco in a private ward had been ridiculously trivial; they'd almost lost him before they ever began operating.

After several moments of silence, Draco finally opened his eyes and dropped his head to the side so as to look at Harry. The look on his face was anything but grateful, and Harry hadn't expected anything more.

“Get out of here Potter. I don't have anything to say to you.�

“I'll be holding a press conference in the morning. You won't be targeted again. The full weight of the Ministry stands behind you.�

He laughed in return, though the immediate intake of breath said he wished he hadn't. After regaining what little composure he had, Draco said, “The Ministry wasn't so keen on me when they chucked me in Azkaban.�

“You deserved your sentence, Malfoy, don't you dare question that.�

“Then why, Potter, do I have the Ministry behind me now? Changed its tune, has it? I've served my purpose as being made an example of, so now how am I going to be used?�

Harry stood up, every regret he had about not acting sooner slowly but surely flooding out. He needed to leave before it all drained, and he forgot why he was on Malfoy's side in the first place. “The Ministry is doing all it can to find those responsible for putting you here. Any further attacks will not be tolerated, and we ask that instead of going to crawl in a hole and die, you elicit our help.�

“Why did you come to my home?�

Harry stopped with his hand on the doorknob, cursing silently. He'd hoped that particular memory would have been forgotten. Determined to utilize every professionalism he'd learned and leave the past behind him, Harry turned. “I was going to make an apology on behalf of the Ministry for the slander to your name. I – I was also going to warn you...�

Draco's quiet laughing followed Harry through the door.



“Don't start, Ginny.�

She opened her mouth as if to shout but shut it quickly, and instead, in a much calmer tone, said, “I wasn't going to start anything.�

“I know I waited too long. I know I should have listened to you. You happy?�

“Harry, no one blames you for what happened to Malfoy, least of all me.�

Ginny had taken leave from the team to spend time with Harry during his suspension. Despite being completely justified, Robards went out of his way to make sure Harry received the same punishment as anyone else on his team, if not more. It was only a week without pay, but it was enough to drive Harry insane, especially since Ginny had so kindly decided to spend the entire week with him, reminding him that his inaction nearly cost a man his life.

No, he didn't like Malfoy. Yes, he thought he deserved every curse he'd taken. But unfortunately, neither opinions justified the actions. It was done out of misplaced, ignorant fear, and had nothing to do with Malfoy himself. It was also another nail in Johnston's career; her actions caused the attack, and Harry would see to it that she received punishment for it.

Draco wasn't going to be released from St. Mungos for a week. The injuries were enough to kill him on the spot; no one knew exactly how he'd survived.

“The press conference went well,� Ginny mused, as she flipped through the sports section of the paper.

“Yeah,� Harry replied.

“People seemed to respond well to your defense of Malfoy.�

“Yeah, they did.�

Ginny sighed and threw the paper down. “I'm going to bed.�

“Okay.�

He listened to Ginny in the back of the house until it seemed she'd finally laid down. The candles were flickering at the ends of their wicks when he took the bottle of firewhiskey from the cabinet and poured him a healthy goblet of it, taking both the goblet and the bottle back to his chair by the embers in the fire place.

+++++


The multiple lacerations had finally healed in to faint, pinkish scars. Draco looked himself over in the mirror, observing the rather prominent scar that trailed from his forehead and down the left side of his nose. It was the only one that hadn't faded, and wouldn't. There was no healing scars left behind from dark magic.

Draco had finally gone to a Muggle store to get clothing. Across the bedroom floor were trousers and shirts designed for and by the filth he'd loathed for decades, but they had been his only option. He'd worn they same four articles of clothing for over a month, never being able to wash them completely with magic. Not allowing the anger to grow too strong, Draco finally picked out the clothing he would wear for the day, not lingering too long on the fact that the t-shirt was actually quite comfortable.

On his way out of the flat, he sighed to himself. The Muggle who had carried him from the streets and to his home was standing outside of a doorway two buildings down and had caught sight of Draco. The man started jogging his way before Draco could escape.

“Hello there. Listen, I've – blimey!�

Draco stared in confusion for a moment before he realized Muggles would never have healed so quickly.

“How the bloody hell did you--?�

“Family secret,� Draco said evasively as he jiggled his key in to the door.

“Right, well listen...�

“I've got to be going,� he said, and started walking down the stairs to the street. He turned back and said through clenched teeth, “Thank you... for your help.�

He walked quickly around the corner and tried to coax the tension out of his neck and shoulders, already trying to suppress the memory. If his father ever heard him speaking in such a way to a Muggle he'd have been disowned and thrown on to the streets – or thrown in St. Mungo's to have his head checked.

On his way through the twisting streets of the city, Draco kept his head down and his hands stuck in his pockets, trying to avoid any further contact with anyone. The harder he tried erasing the memory of the man carrying him into his home the more vibrant it got. A complete stranger had interrupted his day to help Draco, and had spent the better part of what had almost been Draco's last moments trying to convince him to go to a hospital; to get help. Draco knew that if he had been in the man's shoes, he'd have walked on by.

He reached the end of a particularly long long alleyway and turned around, making sure there were no Muggles on the street. When he was sure no one was watching he walked through the bricks, his head down, until he came out the other side.

Knockturn Alley wasn't the hellhole it'd been when Draco had last seen it, but still, he had a block and a half of safety to prepare for emerging in to Diagon Alley. Instinctively he took his hands from his pockets and looked directly ahead of him, walking with a facade of surety even in his Muggle clothing.

Madam Malkin's had come in to sight before anyone noticed Draco. For the most part they eyed him angrily but kept walking, not sparing a second glance. Until a familiar face walked out of the robe shop.

“Didn't we teach you a lesson, Death Eater?�

Draco watched as four men followed their pack leader out of the shop. They all caught sight of Draco at the same time and drew their wands, forming a half circle on either side of the largest man.

+++++

“Harry, Ford flooed to the Atrium; he's calling for back up in Diagon Alley.�

Harry already had his wand in his hand as he and Ron pushed away from their desks, only waiting so as to hear Robards' full report.

“Five men outside the rope shop – Ford's not approaching until he has back up. I'll assemble a team to follow you.�

Ron nodded at Harry and apparated, and Harry followed suit He landed just a few feet away from where Ron had and together they began walking, pulling their badges out in synchronized movements.

“Bloody Malfoy,� Harry heard Ron mutter as the crowd came in to sight. Harry nodded his head to the left and went for the right without waiting for conformation from Ron. He caught sight of Ford and pointed to where Ron had gone as he pushed the bystanders out of his way.

“—should have been slaughtered like our families were!�

“If the Ministry won't hang you, we will!�

“Back up!� Harry shouted, sending sparks in to the air to catch everyone's attention. Ford and Ron had set a perimeter around the group of men who had Malfoy cornered.

+++++

All but the man in the center had taken an involuntary step backward. The man's beady eyes stayed focused on Draco's as he griped the wand in his hand tighter, taking a step closer.

“The Ministry can't always come to your rescue, you filthy Death Eater. We will kill you and we'll kill all your old pals, and we'll string them up in the streets like you did my wife!�

Draco drew his wand, ignoring the shouts from the Aurors. “I did nothing to your wife.� He looked at the entire crowd, a mixture of fury and sadness both fueling the desire to hex them all and make them understand. “I did nothing to your families!�

+++++

Harry was waiting for a spell to fly; waiting until it became absolutely necessary to magically restrain the assailants. If it didn't come to that – if he could make it a peaceful standoff –

“CRUCIO!�

“Stupefy!� Harry shouted, but the damage had been done. The crowd fled, screaming, as Harry tried to find the one holding Draco on the ground. He shot a spell at the man in the center of the gang and watched Draco's body fall in relief.

The one whom Harry had hit turned angrily in his direction, the look on his face mad as more and more Aurors flooded the street. Within a matter of seconds Harry, Ron, and Ford had bound each of the assailants.

+++++

Draco watched the chaos around him as he tried to pull the breath through to his lungs. His body tingled with the aftermath of the curse and his stomach turned with burning, overwhelming defeat.

No one saw him pick himself up from the worn asphalt. Tears flooding his vision, he raised his wand –

+++++

The ground shook with the explosion as Madam Malkin's came crashing down in a confusion of flying wood and the immediate uprising of spells being sent haphazardly in to the crowd. Fires erupted from the rubble and the street was filled with the sound of screaming as what looked like balls of flames rolled on ground.

Entire groups of people fell simultaneously as Harry watched from the ground, trapped beneath a column that had fallen. He searched frantically for the source of the explosion until his eyes found Draco, bellowing in rage as he slashed his wand through the air, sending pieces of the collapsed building flying, taking out dozens of people every second.

“DRACO!� Harry screamed, desperately trying to catch his attention. Water was flooding the streets as Aurors ignorantly attempted to cease the fiendfyre.

“DRACO, PLEASE – please!�

He watched as if in slow motion as a jet of green light froze Draco mid-swing. Bloodied and covered in sot, his eyes, for the smallest moment, looked peaceful, before he fell to ground.